


Voucher

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Babysitting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EHyde prompted: "The first time Bobby met John Winchester."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voucher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EHyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EHyde/gifts).



I vouch for people all the time. You give me your aliases, which department you want, and I tell you the number and put you down in my book of aliases. It's simple. Not only does it help me keep organized, it also helps me keep track of who's active, and of who's out in what area.

I don't meet everyone I vouch for, though I like to because it's my fake name they're dragging through the mud if they're not being the hunter they should be. 

One hunter, real name Winchester, with a long list of aliases I'd already decided was a little excessive, showed up at my door, dirt-streaked, smile full of charm that I didn't trust.

"Can I help you?"

"Bobby Singer?"

"You _saw_ the sign, didn't you?" I challenged.

He paused, chuckled. "Yeah." I didn't like his laugh.

"And?" I finally asked when he seemed to think that'd answer all my questions.

"You answer phones all day," he pointed out.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Perfect," he said.

"Excuse me?" I tried to figure out what he was looking so goddamn pleased with himself about.

"You know all about protection," the man said, glancing up at the ceiling where I'd had a Key of Solomon painted since about five touch-ups ago.

"Yeah? And? What's it to you?"

"I'm John Winchester." 

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. I know you." I'd recognized the voice. "Why are you here, tracking dirt on my doorstep?"

"How about a hundred bucks?" he offered instead.

The nerve of this guy. A hundred. He couldn't have come at a better time. "For?"

"For the next two days." 

"Next two days of what?"

"Are you gonna agree to my terms?"

I looked past him at the junk in my yard, a yard that had once been lush and green. I said, "Maybe." But I did take the money.

That was when he made his way back to his car.

"Car trouble?" I finally asked, starting to follow him, folding the bills in my hand and placing them in my pocket. 

"No."

"Need help movin' somethin'?" I asked. I caught sight of his ride. '67 Impala, one he obviously gave a damn about.

There was movement in the backseat, no, a face in the cracked window, a hopeful, suspicious face that seemed to understand what was going on more than I did.

"This is Dean, and Sam." Winchester opened the door of the car. 

"What?!"

"This is Dean and Sam. Dean's seven."

"Come again?!"

"Sam's almost three." 

My hand started to slip into my pocket to take hold of the money, but a small hand shot out to shake mine. "Sir," Dean said with the barest sprinkle of desperation.

"Come on," Winchester said. He reached into the car to help the other kid out, hefted him up in his arms like he couldn't be trusted to avoid the rusting junk otherwise. He led the way back to the house, to my house, Dean a careful step behind and to the side, and I brought up the rear. 

Sam locked eyes with me for a moment, perceptive, oddly helpless. Oddly unfazed. And when John Winchester set Sam down, he curled his hands behind his back, soft curls blowing lightly in the breeze from the open door letting out the heat. I thought to myself that it wasn't normal.

Dean bit his lip, then seemed to catch himself at it. He gauged his surroundings like a hunter's kid alright, even looking over his shoulder at the yard a little more as John started leaving me instructions. 

"You got a pen?" he asked. I blinked, rushed to get one, then suspiciously eyed the kids as I sat down to jot down notes. 

"Two hundred," I finally managed through shaking lips as John started to close the door behind him.

The new bill was in my hand, and I crumpled it, stuck it with the others deep inside my pocket. 

"Is he gonna be back in two days?" I asked Dean. 

He honestly didn't know. "I can help," he rushed out instead. "He's shy, but I can help."

"I believe you," I said quickly, startled by his earnestness. 

"It'll be okay. Pastor Jim—this guy we know—he's out, or it would have been him. It was supposed to be. My dad should be back soon enough." Dean got Sam settled on the couch, led me into the kitchen, and told me, "Sam doesn't know, about hunting."

John Winchester came back four days later with an extra hundred I felt cheap for accepting. He'd waltzed right in and left me with his kids—my personal nightmare, by the way—and waltzed right back out acting like it was no big thing.

And it wouldn't be the last time.


End file.
